Little Secrets
by feelsforbreakfast
Summary: The one where Harry is an idiot with a murky past and a crush, Zayn is a dancer who makes bad choices, Louis is a flawless queen bee with a secret, Niall has a crush on an impossible girl, and Liam falls for a stupid boy. A little bit skins, a little bit gossip girl, and a whole lot of kissing. (ziam/larry)


**Please Read First: So for a while I know I had a decent following on here, and you guys have always been really supportive and great so I thought I'd try and enlist your help. I have recently entered a scholarship contest and I need votes to win. You don't have to sign up for anything and it takes about two seconds, all you have to do is vote here. . Thankyou so much, enjoy the story. (: **

**cu i swear to god if you report me i will start crying i am trying to get money for college leave me alone **

**Chapter 1**

Zayn's doing that broody thing he likes to do, a cigarette hanging lazily from his fingers as he props his cream colored high tops against the tree trunk next to where Harry's sitting, his nose deep in a dog eared Vonnegut novel.

"I'm bored." He takes a quick drag, vaguely aware of some freshman girls giving them stares that walk the line between disgusted and hungry. "Harry quit fucking reading and entertain me."

Harry looks up, giving Zayn a glare from underneath his immaculate curly fringe. "Go get Grimmy to entertain you. Or Perrie. Someone, anyone, christ you're such a child."

Zayn just gives him a lazy half grin, the kind only Harry gets to see, where his gaze goes soft for a moment, tiny creases appearing at the sides of his eyes. Harry sighs, giving him a reluctant smile and reaching a hand out so it's resting on Zayn's stomach, tucking itself underneath the fold of his leather jacket.

Zayn wiggles under the touch, admiring the way the autumn sunlight brings out the carmel highlights in Harry's hair. He's quite pretty really, emerald pea coat done up all the way, tight jeans making his legs look exceptionally long, and Zayn knows just how good they look together, like something out of a magazine.

Harry, who's returned to his book, glances upward to meet Zayn's eyes. "You're looking at me funny again."

Zayn brings his cigarette to his lips before answering, aware of how Harry's eyes always linger when he does, a tiny pink flush creeping across his cheeks. "Want to get fantastically drunk and screw each other?"

Harry shakes out his hair, turning the page and drumming his fingers across Zayn's flat stomach, lean like the rest of his body. "I could be convinced."

"Good." Zayn lets his smile fade, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of Harry's fingers. He thinks that maybe what they have isn't exactly normal, maybe not healthy even, but he's fairly sure he couldn't give it up if he wanted to. Harry's his anchor, the only thing that keeps him tethered to the Earth when he feels like he might slip away.

A sharp voice breaks through the peaceful bubble they've created. "You aren't supposed to smoke this close to the building."

Zayn looks up, his eyes falling on Louis Tomlinson, towering above him in all his tanned, immaculately styled glory. He can see Eleanor behind him with a bitchface to match her boyfriend's, clutching her expensive handbag to her chest like she's afraid Zayn and Harry are going to jump up and steal it.

Before Zayn can form some kind of witty retort, Harry's speaking up, voice lazy and little bit protective. Harry has a policy where no one is allowed to be a dick to Zayn except Harry himself. "Louis, I appreciate your concern, but could you please spoil someone's fun somewhere else on campus and leave darling Zayn alone?"

"Well I wouldn't have to spoil your fun," He puts the last three words in sarcastic finger quotes. "If you weren't breaking the rules. The sign says twenty feet, you can't be any further than ten." He crosses his arms over his chest, tapping the toe of his red toms on the ground.

"Louis I'm sorry this is bothering you, I really am. I just also don't care." Harry says, a fake smile alighting on his face. "Fuck off."

Louis takes out his phone, holding it up and throwing out his hip, the image of defiance. "If I send a picture to the dean, you'll get suspended."

Zayn lets out a long groan, quickly tiring of the whole conversation. "My parents donated half the library, they aren't going to suspend me."

Louis looks especially miffed at that, lip curling into a sneer as he shoves his phone angrily back into his pocket. "Well it looks like your parents are good for something, god knows they haven't _raised you_."

It really shouldn't hurt, because Zayn knows its true just as much as anyone else, but it still causes his heart to hop up into his throat. He opens his mouth to brush it off like he always does, because he's perfectly fine the way he is, parents or not. At which point he notices that Harry has leapt up from his spot by the tree, bringing his arm back and punching Louis straight in the nose.

He can hear the crack, Louis' cry of anger and disbelief as he grabs at his nose, blood dripping through his fingers. "You fucking hit me!"

Zayn stubs his cigarette out on the ground, scrambling to his feet to stand behind Harry, who looks a bit wild, coat mussed, curls flying every which way. "Well next time, don't talk to him like that."

"There was no reason to punch me you twat, you and your fucking boyfriend were breaking the rules in the fucking first place." It would almost be funny if his anger wasn't pointed so directly at them, the way he's trying to keep the blood streaming from his nose off of his cashmere scarf while simultaneously berating them.

"1. You're a twat. 2. You're literally the biggest twat I've ever met and 3. He isn't my boyfriend." Harry seems to be coming down from his adrenaline high and Zayn resists the urge to take his hand, to pull him back to the ground like Harry sometimes needs.

Louis looks almost beyond rage, giving up trying to stem the blood coming from his nose as he grabs Eleanor's hand. She looks fairly alarmed, staring down at his bloodied fingers like she's afraid they're going to contaminate her. "Well everyone knows you two've done it, fucking slags the both of you."

Harry just smiles at him, that humorless smile that Zayn recognizes as just a little bit dangerous. "Well we don't really hide it, do we? Not like you."

Louis pauses, squinting his Harry's direction. "What the fuck are you on about?"

Harry winks, grin turning filthy. "Your little girlfriend isn't fooling anyone, everybody knows your dirty little secret."

"I hope you get expelled." Louis snaps in reply, turning on his heel and dragging a very flustered Eleanor to what Zayn has to guess is the general direction of the dean's office.

xx

It's two hours later when they finally get out of the dean's with a month's worth of detention, Zayn for smoking on school grounds and Harry for the obvious punching offense.

They're walking over to fourth period, about an hour late, but with tardy passes for once. Harry's taken the lead, mouth set in a firm line as they make their way across the green.

"You didn't have to do that, you know." Zayn says, circling his fingers around Harry's wrist, jumping ahead a little bit so they're walking in step. "I mean I appreciate it, but you didn't have to."

Harry gives him a wan little smile, sliding so they're holding hands for real, fingers threaded between each other, his knuckles clean but a bit raw from the punch. "I know. But Louis Tomlinson is a prat, and I enjoy punching prats in the face."

That earns him Zayn's famous half smile. "I know. I'm trying to say thankyou."

Harry knocks him a bit with his shoulder, a certain fondness coming to his eyes. "I know. You're very welcome, though I really did enjoy punching him."

"You just have a weakness for pretty boys."

Harry barks out a laugh, shifting his messenger back up higher on his shoulder. "A little bit. I still can't decide if I want to punch him, fuck him, or steal his clothes."

"Well, you've already got one, go for two out of three."

Harry looks ponderous for a moment. "Think I should?"

Zayn shrugs, wiggling his eyebrows a bit. "Could be fun."

"You've got the best ideas, baby." He leans over, planting a sloppy kiss on Zayn's cheek.

"You're disgusting, get your lips off of me." Zayn deadpans, wiping his cheek in a highly exaggerated movement.

Harry snorts. "Well that's the first time I've heard that come out of your mouth."

"It certainly is." His eyes find the ground for a moment, a sudden burst of shyness coming over him. "But really, thanks Haz."

Harry gives Zayn's hand a squeeze, shooting him a bright smile. "You know I'd do it again."

Zayn nods, squeezing back. "I know."

xx

It's not that Louis is actively trying not to do his math, its just that his nose hurts like a bitch and he can't get that stupid curly haired asshole out of his mind. Eleanor is sitting across from the table, sipping whatever stupid fruity latte smoothie thing she's ordered this time, phone in hand, abandoned book in her lap.

"Who the fuck does he think he is?" Louis prompts for what he knows is about the third time since they've gotten here. "Honestly, like I tell him and his stupid boyfriend to follow the rules and he punches me. Me!"

Eleanor nods, typing out a message on her new iphone, the sparkling case sending shimmering reflections across the table. "You should sue."

"I should!" He slaps the table with a hand. "One month of detention is NOTHING. He practically broke my nose!"

"Well I mean, he didn't actually break it." Eleanor points out rather unhelpfully. "The doctor said you got lucky."

"Well," Begins Louis in a scathing tone. "It's heavily bruised and swollen and I look awful."

"You look fine, baby. It'll fade soon." She assures him, looking up from her text to lay a hand over his, giving him a smile.

Louis nods, taking her hand in his, squeezing with perhaps unwarranted pressure. "I still fucking hate him. I fucking hate Harry fucking Styles."

xx

They're sitting in Niall's basement waiting for Perrie and the girls to come with the pot, passing around the two beers they've scrounged out of his nearly empty minifridge. Niall has the nicest basement out of all them, which is really saying something. It's sprawling and lavish, with creamy leather couches and a home theatre in one corner.

"So you really punched him?" Prompts Niall, who's laying spread eagle on his carpeting.

Harry nods, taking a lazy swig, a wicked grin spilling across his face. He's positioned himself on one of Niall's plush couches, his feet in Zayn's lap, back pressed to Nick's chest. "Straight in the nose. Didn't break it apparently, though I swear to god I heard a crack."

"It'd be a shame if you broke his face." Grimmy comments, swiping the beer from Harry's hand. "Wish he'd stop with the straight edge girlfriend bullshit so I could get myself a snog in."

Zayn's drawls his position in the corner. "Harry's already got dibs on that, haven't you Haz?"

"Lets just say I wouldn't be opposed to ripping his clothes off." Harry admits, a tiny pink flush crawling across his cheeks. He's one of the most sexually deviant people Zayn knows, and yet he always seems to have a blush on his face. Zayn wonders sometimes if he does it on purpose, just because he knows it makes him look adorable.

"Well if you get dibs on him I want his girlfriend." Niall adds. "She is fit as fuck. Seems pretty cool too, despite the fact that her boyfriend likes boys."

Harry laughs, earning a displeased glare from Nick as he almost spills his beer. "Nialler have you got yourself a crush?"

Niall shoots him a disgruntled look. "It's not a crush! I just want to show her a good time, god knows she can't be getting any."

A feminine voice emerges from the stairway, Perrie, Cher, and Rebecca emerging in a tight knit cluster.

"Don't be unkind." It's Perrie, shooting Niall a look. "Maybe she's waiting until marriage." She pulls a face to reveal she's joking, breaking into a laugh.

Niall laughs, adopting a truly filthy grin. "Not for long."

Rebecca cuts in, a lone voice of reason. She's always been the responsible one, and if Zayn's honest, he really has no clue why she even hangs out with them other than maybe because she knows they'd drive themselves into the ground without her. "Don't be mean. We all thought Harry was straight for a long time."

Cher pats her condescendingly on the head, moving for the free couch and flopping down unceremoniously upon it. "Nobody thought that but you honey."

Harry nods. "It's true."

Rebecca rolls her eyes, moving to sit on the floor next to Niall, tugging a hand through his hair. "Lets watch something."

Zayn looks up at the ceiling, running his eyes over the tiny crack that winds across the plaster. He likes his friends, really he does, but there's a big part of him that likes it better when he's alone. There's no one to impress that way, no one to ask why he's so quiet, no one to have to convince he's okay.

He feels the soft pressure of Perrie's body press against his as she moves Harry's feet out of the way, sliding between his legs and resting against his chest. She turns her head and gives him a small smile, blue eyes warm. "Hey."

He takes her dainty hands, holding them in his larger ones. It's not that he and Perrie are a thing per se, they aren't close to exclusive and they certainly don't go on dates, but it's nice sometimes to have a person to hold when you're feeling a little bit like you need someone. "Hey."

She cocks her head, eyebrows knitting together. "You alright?"

He nods, trying his best to give her a smile. He likes Perrie, she's sweet and soft and everything he could ever want in a girl. They're perfect for each other in theory, both pretty, a little bit screwed up, with a shared talent for singing and dancing until everything's alright. She's the one who introduced him to Neon Indian all those years ago, and he showed her M83 back when no one knew who they were.

Except in real life, they're never really going to be enough for each other. She's a little shy and he needs someone to pull him out of his shell, and there isn't really ever going to be enough of Zayn for her to take when she needs it. But it works, in it's own way, at least for now.

But it's these moments, when she looks at him, really looks at him and asks if he's alright and he really doesn't know what to say, that make him realize that he's teetering just a little bit close to the edge.

But he's not ready to fall yet, so he kisses her quickly on the mouth and tries his best at a smile. "I'm just fine."

He's not, but that's becoming normal.

xx

It's not that Zayn doesn't want Harry to go the bonfire, it's just that Zayn doesn't want to go and he doesn't want to sit on his bed alone while everyone else gets smashed. Harry hasn't seemed to have noticed yet and is trying on shirts, checking the weather forecast, and generally being his normal cheeky self.

"What do you think?" He asks, holding up two of his blazers and jiggling them around in his hands.

Zayn shrugs, burrowing deeper in Harry's bed, pulling the comforter up to his chin. "They'll both look good."

Harry shoots him a glare. "You're absolutely no help. I should have invited Grimmy."

"See you say things like that and it's still me in your bed." Zayn points out, jerking a lazy finger at the jacket in Harry's left hand. "The navy one."

Harry throws the inferior jacket at him, sliding the other one over his white tee shirt. "That's much more helpful."

"You're welcome."

Harry pauses, giving Zayn a long look. "You want to stay home, don't you?"

Zayn shrugs. Of course he does, he wants to cuddle up to Harry and not let go for the rest of the night, but he isn't going to make Harry stay home just because he's being lame. "It's fine."

Harry pouts. "I can't have fun if I know you're miserable."

Zayn gives him the best smile he has in him. "Yes you can."

Harry returns it, shaking out his curls the smallest bit. "I know, but I won't be happy about it." He pauses, then climbs onto the bed, his body suddenly hovering over Zayn's. "You do deserve to be happy too, you know."

Zayn nods, slipping his hands out of the covers to rest his fingertips on Harry's jawline. "I'm trying my best."

Harry gives him a lopsided grin, fondness sparkling in his eyes. "I just wish you didn't have to try."

He leans down, pressing his body against Zayn's and kissing him sweetly on the mouth, soft lips moulding against each other. Kissing Harry is one of Zayn's favorite things. It's warm and comforting in a way it never is with anyone else, a reminder stinging on his lips that they're always going to be there for each other.

Zayn is the one who pulls back first, sliding his fingers out of Harry's messy curls and pulling the other boy briefly down to his chest. "Thanks Haz."

Harry grins against his neck, hugging him tight. "That's what friends are for."

xx

Louis is surrounded by a group of eager listeners when Harry spots him on the other side of the bonfire, leaping flames casting his laughing face in flickering orange. While he's watching him it's easy for Harry to forget just how awful of a person he is, because he looks so beautiful sometimes, like he's fragile and special.

Harry sometimes wonders which side of Louis is who he really is, if the Louis Tomlinson he so often sees is what's within or if it's just the shell he hides behind. He knows he shouldn't care so much, but he's always seen that tiny flash of fear in the other boy's bright blue eyes that makes him want to know just what Louis's so scared of. He wants to pull the spark out and make him sweat underneath his neatly pressed collar, make him feel like he doesn't have to be afraid anymore.

He just wants to touch him, to tug him apart a bit. He's always so pristine, perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect everything and it drives Harry a bit mental really. He's a firm believer in the idea that beautiful things are made to be roughed up just a little bit.

He saunters around the circle, blazer already shed somewhere in the sand, the warmth of alcohol and the fire thrumming through his veins like courage. Louis is wearing those suspenders he likes over a blue striped shirt that pulls tight over his petite shoulders, and Harry isn't sure he's ever really noticed how small he was before, all dainty angles and soft tan skin.

He can tell the story has just finished up by the way everyone's attention is slowly drifting away from Louis, a bottle of Jack being passed around the circle. Harry waits until the bottle is nearly to Louis' lips before running his finger down the length of his spine, causing the older boy to dribble liquid down his chin with a muffled curse.

Harry leans in as Louis turns, their faces ending up incredibly close, noses nearly brushing. A lopsided grins falls on Harry's face. "Sorry."

Louis' entire body seems to tense as he practically tosses the bottle to the next person, pulling back from Harry with a sneer. "What do you want?"

Harry sits down in the sand behind him, placing his chin on his hands. He can see the bruising from the punch, purple and yellow against Louis' skin and it's somehow gratifying to know that he's the one who put it there. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay, you did get punched in the face."

Louis sneers, raising his eyebrows high. "Yeah, by _you_. And I'm fine thankyou very much."

Harry holds his hands up in innocence. "Good. I'm just glad I didn't break it."

Louis pulls a face, wincing slightly at the movement. "I'm really sure you are."

Harry shrugs. "I am. You're too beautiful for me to mess up."

There's a pause then, a beat where Louis seems to freeze for a moment, the sparkle of fear growing behind his eyes. "Don't, don't do that."

"Do what?"

Harry likes the way Louis' hands shift nervously in his lap like he doesn't know what to do with them, how his gaze flickers away from Harry's, like he's afraid of what he's going to see in the other boy's eyes. "Say things like that to me."

"Why not?"

He regains a little bit of his earlier fire, raising his chin high. "Because I'm not interested in you and whatever games you're playing."

"Does that make you feel better?" Harry asks, trailing a finger through the sand and leaning towards Louis.

His eyebrows knit together and Harry can see him grasping for straws as he tries to figure out what Harry is talking about. He especially likes the moment where he gives up and is forced to ask, likes how much it irritates him. "Does what make me feel better?"

"For you to think that I'm playing games with you." He stands up, running a hand through his curls. "Because it's easier than acknowledging that I might just want you." He leans down, whispering low in Louis' ear before he has the presence of mind to pull back. "Because I do want you."

He drops a light kiss on the bridge of Louis' nose, turning and heading out towards the water before Louis can splutter out a reply, an evil kind of satisfaction thrumming through his veins.

xx

Eleanor isn't drunk. She isn't even kindof drunk, and while she's probably going to call a cab for a very drunk Louis much later, she'll probably stay at least mostly sober.

She left him by the bonfire a long time ago, choosing to lay on the sand and let the surf tickle her feet. She's feel introspective tonight, which is pretty unusual for her, but she likes it, letting the waves and noise of the party fill the silence.

She knows he's probably wondering where she is, but there's a part of her that's fine without him tonight. He's been acting off since the punching incident and it's starting to worry her in little tugs that she can't quite explain. She knows he isn't perfect, he's cruel sometimes, distant, but this is something just a little bit different.

She's mulling it over, trying to make sense of something she can't really really put her finger on in the first place when a voice intrudes, breaking her out of her reverie.

"No boyfriend tonight?"

Her head snaps up, eye falling on a blonde head she knows she should recognize but can't put a name to. He's got blue eyes, sharp but friendly, cheeks flushed bright pink, hair peroxide blonde that melts into brown as it reaches his scalp.

She shakes her head, giving him a smile. "He's over by the bonfire."

The blonde boy nods, swirling the beer in his hand as he looks out across the horizon then back down at her, an amiable smile splitting across his face. "Can I sit?"

She shrugs, patting the sand next to her. "If you'd like."

He nods, sitting down and laying back on his elbows, tilting his head back to look up at the sky. "Wish we could see more stars."

She nods. "That'd be nice." Then, after a quick pause. "Sorry, what's your name?"

He looks over at her, eyebrows raised. "You don't know who I am?"

She shakes her head, a light pink flowering across her cheeks. "You look familiar."

"I'm Niall." He shifts, holding out a hand for her. "Nice to meet you."

"Oh you're Niall? It's nice to have a face to put the name." She smiles, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake, wondering if the extra second he held her fingers was simply her imagination. "I'm Eleanor. Nice to meet you too."

He laughs, an easy sound that sounds at home in his mouth and she suddenly thinks of Louis. He doesn't laugh much. He likes making other people laugh, likes being the reason for their smiles, but when he laughs it's like a gift, something you get to hear only every once in a while on really special occasions. It's fine, it's not like she needs to make him laugh, but it's hard sometimes, feeling like she gives and gives and all he does is take.

"I know who you are, El." He pauses, grin lazy. "I can call you El can't I?"

She shrugs, enjoying the distraction from her own inner monologue. "Sure you can, Ni."

He laughs again, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Clever, that."

"I try." She replies, leaning back so she's sitting like he is, elbows pressed into the sand, head tilted up to see the horizon.

They sit in silence for a good minute, heels sinking into wet sand. "I think they've got a keg going over by the fire." Niall says finally, craning his neck to see. "Want to head back up?"

Eleanor considers it, surprised to find that she really doesn't want to move. "Not really. It's nice over here."

Niall nods, and she notices the way his face falls almost imperceptibly as he starts to rise to his feet. "I understand. See you some other time then?"

She shakes her head, reaching for his wrist. "No, I mean, I'm not saying you should leave, we can just sit if you'd like?"

He pauses, then sinks back down into the sand. "Yeah. I'd like that."

And so they sit, side by side in the sand until the tide comes up to catch their feet.

xx

Zayn is beginning to realize that he shouldn't have come. There's a restlessness in his bones, the kind that's dangerous on him, that makes his fingers itch for pills and pain. He can see Harry's face over and over in his mind, concern in his eyes as he makes Zayn promise that if he ever feels like this to find him, to please not hurt himself again.

The thing is he's not really sure he wants help.

He can see Andy by the fire, his greasy hair pushed back from his forehead, whispering something into some pretty brunette's ear, his hands creeping up her leg. Zayn's fingers shake a little bit as he heads over, feet sinking into the cool sand until he's right behind him.

He taps his shoulder, pulling his attention away from the girl. Andy smiles toothily when he sees him, and Zayn can tell Andy knows what he wants. "Hey, faggot. Disco biscuits?"

And Zayn has to try really hard not punch him as he slips some bills into his hand because he's such an enormous twat and why can't he just call it ecstasy like every-fucking-body else. But he just gives Andy a thin lipped smile as he takes the tiny ziplock bag from his hands, sticking the four bright pink pills in the back of his jeans. "Thanks."

Andy just jerks his eyebrows in response, going back to kissing the neck of the girl on his lap, leaving Zayn to wander up the beach through half drunk dancers.

He's nearly made it up to the parking lot when he feels a cool hand rest on the small of his back, another looping around his wrist and pulling him to a stop. He turns, barely having time to register that it's Perrie before she's kissing him, pulling herself up to his level with arms around his neck.

And he doesn't really want her tonight but can't remember how to say no, so he just whispers an invitation and pulls her up to his car, climbing over each other in the backseat. It's too hot and the leather seats stick to his back as she sits over him, blonde hair long and lovely as it falls down her chest and really she's just the sort of thing he wants to hurt.

But then hurting and loving have always been pretty intertwined for him, and he supposes he can pretend this feeling is love for a little while. He pulls her shirt off and she pulls off his, pale hands running down his chest as he holds her hips, slipping off her jeans.

She smells like the beach, flower perfume, and just a little like weed, warm and sweet when she kisses him, hot breath in his ear as he turns her over and presses her against the leather. She's whispering things to him, soft moans that tremble from her lips but he can't think of anything to say to her as he buries his face in her messy hair so he just stays silent.

He bites against her neck as he sinks into her, painting red marks across her soft skin because he likes owning things, marking them as his. It's a thing with him, getting to put his hands on something and know that it's his for a little while. Some part of him knows that's a little bit fucked up.

She's shifting her hips against his, long fingernails scratching trails down his back as he thrusts deep into her like it'll make him feel better. It almost does, nervous energy making his mouth frantic against hers, hands rough and movements rougher.

She comes with murmuring gasps and he follows after her, fingers bruising into her hips as he collapses onto her chest. Their lips are nearly touching and he thinks about kissing her but pulls back and leans up against seat instead.

She gives him a small smile from her spot on the other side of the car like she knows just what he's thinking, toeing his pants over to him. "Fancy a smoke?"

He nods, reaching down and wiggling into the fabric the best he can in the confines of the car. By the time he gets them on she's lighting a cigarette, the soft flame casting warm shadows across her face. He's having one of those moments where he thinks he might be able to love her, and he hates them because it's always worse afterwards.

She takes a drag and then hands it to him, blowing out a slow stream of smoke as he takes a drag of his own. She twiddles her fingers once he's done, gesturing for him to return it to her, but he just reaches for her arm and tugs her so she's sitting between his legs, her back to his chest.

"Here." He guides the cigarette to her lips, mouth brushing against her ear as she breathes slowly in, a lazy smiles curling across her face as she blows out.

She leans her head back against his collarbone. "Hey Zayn?"

"Yeah?"

"You aren't ever going to be able to love me, are you?" It's matter of fact, to the point, and Zayn doesn't know how to answer it. It seems like his life hasn't been in black and white for a long time, descending into a swirling pool of gray.

"I think I could love you." He says finally, running a hand slowly across her forearm.

She laughs, low and throaty. "That's what I thought."

He kisses her on the cheek because she's beautiful and he can. "What do you mean?"

"You're very strange you know." She says, trapping his hands and holding them in hers. "I think you've fallen a little bit in love with everyone you know." She taps her fingernails, long and painted a sparkling pink, against the top of his hands. "I wonder why that is."

Zayn stills behind her. "What are you talking about?"

She just smiles, handing him the cigarette and retrieving her clothes from the floor, snapping on her bra and pulling her panties up her legs. "Someday you're going to have to take a chance and put all your eggs in one basket." She replies, kissing him soundly on the lips and moving for the door. "Nobody deserves to be loved with half of someone's heart."

He thinks that maybe he should fight for her, but all he can feel is a soft confusion settling over his bones. "Are you leaving me?"

She shrugs, opening the door and swinging her legs out. "I don't know if we were ever really together."

"I thought we were."

She shrugs. "Then I guess we were." He watches the contours of her back as she pulls her tee shirt on, focusing on how her shoulder blades move like wings underneath her skin. "I'll still love you when you want me to."

He wants to tell her he loves her, wants to more than anything, but the words are stuck in his throat. "Perrie?"

She turns back to look back in at him through the doorway, jean shorts in her hands, makeup smudged. "Yeah?"

He sighs, inhaling a bit of smoke into his mouth and back out again. "I hope you find someone to love you. You know, better than me."

She smiles at him as she steps into her shorts. "You too, Love."

And then she's slamming the door, leaving him sitting alone in the backseat of his disgustingly expensive car, cigarette burning slowly in his fingers, four pink pills burning a hole in his pocket.

_Take me. Take Me. Take me._

**Chapter 2**

It's Liam's first day of school and it's really truly beginning to hit him that maybe transferring to Brixton Prep is not the great honor his uncle seems to think it is. It's third period and he's already gotten lost twice, his map proving nigh impossible to read. His uniform is probably the most uncomfortable thing he's ever encountered: a pair of overly tight khakis, starched white button down, navy blazer and red and blue striped tie that really just makes him look like an enormous twat.

He's about two seconds from cutting his losses and running home when he feels a hand on his shoulder, a female voice floating up to his ear. "Are you as lost as you look, sweetheart?"

He turns in the direction of the sound, eyes wide as they settle on a girl with wild curly hair and smooth coffee colored skin. She's quite pretty really and if he was interested in dating girls she'd probably make the list.

He gives her an embarrassed smile, flicking his eyes down to the map in his hands. "I'd have to guess so."

She laughs, a twinkling sound that's almost charming. "Where are you trying to go?"

Liam glances down at his schedule. "History, with Berns."

Her face lights up. "That's where I'm going!" She takes him by the arm, pulling him down the hall at a brisk walk. "I'm Danielle."

He smiles, trying not to look too overwhelmed. "I'm Liam."

She nods, guiding him up a staircase. "Nice to meet you Liam. This your first day?"

He nods, then realizes she isn't looking at him in the slightest. "Yep. I was supposed to start last week but I ended up with the flu."

She freezes, pulling her hand off his arm. "You aren't contagious, are you?"

He shakes his head, trying to give her a reassuring look. "Not in the least. I probably could have been back Friday, but my mom's kind of crazy."

Her smile returns along with her grip on his arm as she pulls him through a rush of perfectly starched students with expensive looking haircuts. "Understandable. Have you made any friends yet?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. I've only been here a few hours you know." If he's being honest, he's not really sure he wants to do the whole making friends thing. It's never been the easiest for him in the first place, and he still has a bad taste in his mouth from his old school where everyone somehow found out he was gay way before he was ready to tell them. It's not that he doesn't like people, its just that he doesn't want to go through all that again.

She waves her hand dismissively. "Well you seem nice, I'll help you out." She nearly shoves him into a classroom. "Here we are!"

"So what do you do, Liam?" She asks as soon as they sit down, placing her bag on the ground and rummaging around for a notebook and pencil. "Anything fun? Sports?"

He shakes his head, pulling a fresh new notebook from his backpack. Liam likes sports, he's always been down for a pickup game of footie or anything of that sort, but he's not a star player by any stretch of the imagination. "I'm more into singing."

She claps her hands excitedly, giving him a wide grin. "That's so cool! I'm a dancer, so I mean I've always really loved music."

He smiles, deciding he's glad that of all the people who could have found him wandering the halls, he was picked up by Danielle. She's nice, albeit in an almost overexuberant fashion, but he's decided to find it amusing. "What styles do you do?" He asks, because his mom coerced him into taking a little ballet when he was younger, despite his protests that it was stupid and gay. A bit ironic, seeing where he is now.

She seems pleased at the question. "I do a lot, mostly hip hop, a little jazz, lyrical on wednesdays." He can almost see the moment an idea strikes her. "Oh my god you have to go!"

Liam can feel warning bells going off in his head, but he takes the bait anyway. "Go where...?"

And then her hands are clutching his. "Hip hop! On thursday! I'm doing a class with one of my friends and you have to go!"

Liam makes a face. "Is it going to be me and a bunch of seven year olds?"

She laughs at his reaction. "No! It's just high school kids from around here. Mostly we just fuck around and it would be so cool if you went." She gives him a pointed look. "And it would be a _perfect_ way to meet new people."

And she looks so excited that its all Liam can do to nod his affirmative, doomed to spent the rest of the class wondering if perhaps he's made an enormous mistake.

xx

It's stupid. Zayn knows it's stupid but that doesn't change the fact that he's sitting on his bed and trying not to cry about it like some fucking child. The thing is that when his parents told them that they'd actually be home for the entire weekend, that they might actually be a family for a solid five minutes he hadn't really believed them, but it still hurt when his Dad called in from LA and told them there was no way he'd be back by Sunday.

He knows there are healthy ways of dealing with this, ways that don't involve the tiny pink pills hidden in his desk drawer, but he wants the easy way out. It's only once he's gotten one in his palm, small, round and dangerous, that he realizes it's not the easy way out, not really.

Not when he knows how Harry is going to look at him tomorrow when he figures out what Zayn is hiding from him, when he gives him the look that's somewhere between pity and hurt. So he shoves the stupid thing back where it came from and calls Harry.

He picks up on the third ring, sounding sleepy. "Yes, baby?"

Zayn clears his throat, words feeling a bit stuck in his chest. Harry has told him a million times that he doesn't care how often Zayn does this, that he wants to be there for him more than anything and that no, he's not annoying him, its perfectly okay, but he still hates needing help. He hates that he's so weak.

"Can you sleep over tonight?"

Zayn can feel Harry gauging his tone, trying to figure out how wrong things have gone. "Everything alright?"

Zayn makes a noncommittal noise in response. "Would you believe me if I said it was?"

Harry gives a soft little laugh. "Probably not." Zayn can hear him get out of bed, the springs of his mattress squeaking as he moves. "I'll see you in a minute, babe."

"See you a minute." Zayn ends the call, pulling his covers up to his chest as he waits for Harry. It usually takes him a solid fifteen minutes to get to Zayn's house on the stupid motorcycle he got on his seventeenth birthday even though he got a bright blue bentley the year before.

By the time he hears Harry's telltale footsteps he's getting restless again, his hair a mess from pulling his hands through it so many times. He tries to look calm as Harry eases his door open, sliding it shut behind him with a soft click. He's wearing a pair of grass stained khakis and a powder blue tee shirt, his curls mussed from his biking helmet.

"Hey." He whispers into the quiet, even though the only person awake is Zayn's sister, and she's rooms away.

Zayn sits up, giving him small smile. "Thanks for coming."

Harry shrugs, moving to undo his pants, letting them pool around his ankles and stepping out of them. "No problem." He pulls off his shirt in one swift motion, revealing his toned chest, the moonlight making him glow pale and lovely. "Want to talk?"

Zayn shrugs, fingers itching to touch him. He thinks about what Perrie said about how he falls a little bit in love with everyone he touches, and he thinks it's probably true. He loves everyone so much, but never quite enough. "Perrie and I broke up." He says, because that's easy.

Harry moves to the bed, climbing on top of the covers and over Zayn in one swift movement, stopping so their faces are nearly touching. "I didn't know you two were really together."

Zayn shrugs, running a hand up to Harry's face, tracing a finger across his bottom lip. "Neither did she. Neither did I."

Harry nods, nipping quickly at Zayn's finger. "Anything else?"

"Yeah."

Harry tilts his head, waiting for Zayn to respond, kissing him quickly on the lips when he realizes he's not going to. "I'll make you feel better." He says between kisses, running his hand through Zayn's hair just like he likes, the other one bracing himself on the bed. "Let me make you better."

Zayn nods, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Harry's curls, pressing their lips firmly together. Harry murmurs a soft noise of approval against his mouth, slipping one leg between Zayn's and rutting slowly against his thigh.

Zayn lets out a soft groan at the sensation, stopping Harry with hands that tremble only the smallest bit with regret. "Not tonight, Haz."

Harry pulls back ever so slightly, their noses bumping, foreheads resting against each other. "What should I do?"

Zayn pulls him down so their chests are flush, warm skin against warm skin. "Just kiss me."

Harry smiles fondly, brushing a gentle hand across Zayn's cheek. "Very middle school."

Zayn does a tiny little shrug. "I liked middle school."

Harry presses their mouths back together for the smallest moment. "I like kissing you."

xx

Zayn doesn't mean to take them. God, it's one moment of weakness and suddenly he's so high and everything is so beautiful and Harry is shoving him into the bathroom and he's so disappointed and Zayn doesn't know why.

"It was only one pill, Haz. I can go to class I'm perfect."

Harry just shakes his head, intensity in his eyes like he only gets when he's really upset. "Zayn I don't know why the fuck I put up with you." He mutters as he pushes him through the door and sits him down on the tiles. He lets out a sigh that aches with exhaustion. "Can you sit here and wait for me, love? Can you stay here until lunch?"

Zayn reaches out, grabbing Harry's lapel with jittering hands. "Stay with me."

Harry just shakes his head, standing up and trying to fix his hair. "Not this time Zayney."

He can see the sadness in Harry's eyes, and it's bad because all he wants to make Harry not sad and he doesn't know how. "I've fucked up, haven't I?"

Harry just nods, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead before heading back out. "You fucked up, Zayn."

And so Zayn waits on the cold ground, his head dropped back against the tile, lighting a cigarette with shaking fingers.

xx

Really, Liam shouldn't be all that surprised that he's ended up with his smoothie spilled down his white button down. It's just his luck too, try to be healthy and he ends up with a huge pink stain across his front.

He excuses himself from second period, ignoring the sympathetic and amused stares of his classmates as he books it to the bathroom, trying to at least confine the spill to the bottom half of his shirt with only moderate success.

He's got his button up halfway off by the time he gets there, the place reeking of piss and cigarette smoke. He wrinkles his noise, shoving his tie haphazardly into the back of his pants as he throws his soiled shirt into the sink. He's got the water on, pink circles running down the drain when he hears a voice from the ground, soft and lilting.

"You can borrow my shirt if you'd like." He freezes, eyes finding their way to a boy chain smoking on the floor, a wan smile curling across his face. He's a mess; tie undone, hair all askew, dark circles underneath his eyes, cigarette butts littering the ground by his feet. It looks like some part of him that should be alive isn't. "I think I'm going home."

Liam doesn't answer, just stares like he can't quite process the sight in front of him.

The boy seems to take his silence as an affirmative, stubbing his cigarette out on the tile and beginning to unbutton his shirt, sliding the thin fabric down his arms. He's kindof pretty actually, golden skin that's nearly yellow in the florescent lights, sharp collarbones marked by stark black ink. Liam wonders for a moment what the foreign words say before his brain completely catches up.

"What are you doing?"

The dark haired boy shrugs, that same dead smile on his face as he tosses his shirt up, leaning back. "I'm waiting for Harry."

"Are you drunk?" Liam asks, because there's something strange about his movements, something not right in his eyes.

He shakes his head, the blonde highlights at the front of his fringe mixing with his stark black hair. "Pills. I'm waiting for Harry to take me home."

Liam takes a deep breath, picking the boy's shirt off the ground. It's definitely about two sizes too small for him, but he's not sure if the golden skinned boy really wants it back so he just holds it awkwardly in his hands. "Where's Harry?"

He shrugs, looking downcast. "I don't know." There's an abrupt mood shift, a smile curling across his face that's somehow eerie and beautiful at the same time. "Can you take me home?"

Liam chokes a bit on his words. "I- I can't I-"

He moves to stand, coming up so he's nearly touching Liam, hands hovering by his shoulders. "Please."

The real problem with Liam Payne is that he's never been able to resist a pretty face and the word please. "How far away do you live?"

"Close." The black haired boy affirms, then leans in, whispering into Liam's ear. "I can give you directions."

This is a bad idea, he knows it's a bad idea but somehow he finds himself digging into his backpack for his blazer and sliding it on over his white tee shirt, button down still sitting in the sink where he's fairly sure he's just going to have to leave it. "Put your shirt back on." He says shortly, holding out the fabric to the boy whose name he still doesn't know.

The dark haired boy just smiles, holding out his arms until Liam relents to his unspoken demand, sliding the sleeves across sinewy muscle and neatly buttoning the front. "What's your name?" Liam asks as he drags the both of them out into the hallway, walking brusquely towards the entrance in the hope that if they look like they know where they're going, maybe no one will bother them.

"Whatever you want." The boy whispers. "Make one up for me."

"You don't have to whisper." Liam gripes at the boy practically hanging off of him, his hands creeping around his torso, finding the ID hanging off the lanyard around his neck.

"Yes I do, Liam Payne." He whispers, seeming to take the greatest delight in making Liam's job as difficult as possible.

"So where's your ID then? No name, no ID?" He asks, noticing a distinct absence of a backpack, or anything that could possibly identify the boy.

"Nope. I'm like a leaf on the wind, man." He says with incredible confidence for someone's who's making leaf metaphors as Liam coerces him outside and in the direction of his gunmetal gray truck. He never really stops moving, his body constantly in motion, whether it's his trembling fingers finding paths across Liam's chest or his body falling this way and that.

"Would you happen to know how much trouble you get in for skipping class?" Liam asks, the warm August air creeping until his blazer, sun shining hot on his hair.

"Not too much." The boy assures him, abruptly letting go of Liam's waist and taking his hand instead, threading their fingers together, his movements just a little bit twitchy. Liam tenses, wringing his hand out of the boy's grasp.

"Don't do that."

He looks abruptly devastated, linking their arms together instead. "Why not?"

Liam tries to configure his face into something resembling neutrality. "I'd just like it better if you didn't." He can still remember the looks he used to get at his old school, how their stares would pierce his back as he walked down the hallway, their whispers following him around corners and all the way home.

"Okay." The reply is soft and sad, like he's deflating. Liam wonders how long it'll be before he starts to come down, what he's going to have to do then.

"Hey, it's not your fault." Liam finds himself saying as he opens the passenger door of his ford, helping the other boy up with careful hands. "I'm just... Just don't worry about it."

"Okay." Is the only answer he gets as he slams the door shut, heading around to climb in the driver's side.

"So where do you live?" He asks, the car turning on with a great heaving of the engine. The boy starts, looking up from examining the upholstery with his fingertips to give Liam a wide eyed stare, glassy brown eyes holding his.

"Not sure."

Liam grips the steering wheel a little bit harder. "Well I can't take you to not sure."

"You don't have to take me anywhere." He replies, reaching for the handle.

And Liam can't bring himself to let him leave, because sometime between finding him on the floor and bringing him out here he's become oddly responsible for him. "Yes I do."

"Take me home." He says, moving to fiddle with the radio. He's coming down, Liam's pretty sure, his movements less frantic and more slow as he plays with the dials, a somber look on his face.

Liam nods, pulling out of his parking space, because honestly what the fuck else is he going to do. He can't just leave him here and they can't just sit in his car all period while he waits for an address. It's a decent drive back to his house, ten minutes of silence as the boy plays with the radio and looks out the window.

There's no one home when he pulls into the driveway, pulling his charge out of the front seat and taking him up the walk. He's less handsy now, going introspective as Liam lets himself in.

"Are you going to be okay?" Liam asks, taking him to the kitchen. The strange boy sits down on one of the stools by the island, resting his elbows on the counter.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He says, though it's not really all that convincing.

"Can I make you something? Tea? Hot chocolate?" Liam asks, because he looks so fucking sad just sitting there, shoulders slumped.

"I'm alright."

Liam pauses a moment, before heading for the kettle, taking it over to the sink to fill it. "Well I'm making myself something and you're getting some too." Because if he's not going to ask for help then Liam is just going to give it to him.

Liam thinks he almost catches a smile out of the other boy, but it's gone before he can really tell.

"So what happened?" Liam asks, half just to make small talk and half because he can feel unhappiness radiating off the kid in waves, the sharp angles of his face blank.

The boy shrugs. "Just having a bad time of it." It's one of the first completely sensical sentences he's gotten out of him, which Liam regards as a definite plus. "It's not that bad."

"Seems pretty bad." Liam says, taking the seat next to him as he waits for the water to boil.

"It's not really. I just get sad sometimes and I don't..." He pauses, looking down at the table. "I don't know what to do with it."

"It's okay to be upset about things." He knows better than anyone the truth in that. For a while, he thought that feeling upset and angry was the problem, but the problem always seems to be in not letting himself feel what he had to feel.

"I just wish I wasn't. Its like I can't feel anything good anymore." There's something confessionary about the the words, like he's never said them out loud before.

"That's stupid. There's always good things." Liam replies, resting his feet on the rungs of the chair. "Even when it seems like there aren't."

"I guess so." He replies, but it seems more obligatory than like he really means it.

The kettle goes off after a few more minutes of silence which should feel awkward but don't. He gets the feeling that whoever this person sitting next to him is, he's not too concerned with filling the air with small talk. It's nice, in a way Liam never really expected silence to be.

He gets two cups down from the cabinet, a travel cup with stars on the side and a christmas mug left from the year before. He procures two bags of swiss miss, shaking them in and pouring water over them with a burst of burbling chocolate steam. He pulls out a spoon, mixing the two drinks with care, before pushing the Christmas mug across to his guest.

"Festive." He comments with another one of those almost smiles, breathing in the steam from the top of his cup.

"Isn't it?" Liam replies, screwing the top onto his mug, picking his keys up from the counter. "My mom gets home around three thirty, but you can stay as long as you want."

The boy nods, looking a little embarrassed all of a sudden. "Thankyou."

"No problem." He fixes his hair in the mirror above the coat rack. "You're going to be okay here by yourself?"

He nods. "I'll be fine. Thanks though."

"It's really nothing." Liam replies, heading back out the door. "See you at school then?"

The other boy takes a small sip of the hot chocolate. "Yeah. See you then."  
And Liam doesn't know why, but as he closes the door and heads back to his truck, he finds himself smiling.

xx

Liam comes home to find the house completely empty, Christmas cup washed and in the drainer. There's a folded piece of paper left on the counter, his name printed on the front, so he picks it up and unfolds it carefully. On it, in dark blue pen, are a few lines.

_Sorry about earlier. Thankyou for everything._

_- Zayn _

So that's his name.

xx

Liam arrives at the athletic building about three minutes late, depositing his backpack in the corner by the others and pushing into the dance room. It's a big space, with enormous windows on one wall and enormous mirrors on the other. It's already filled with people, Danielle in leggings and a baggy tee shirt and the others dressed in a similar fashion, doing stretches to some Lady GaGa song he vaguely recognizes. She straightens when he enters, a smile breaking across her face. "I thought you'd forgotten!"

Liam shakes his head, bracing himself as she careens into him. "Almost found myself in the volleyball tryouts, but I got here eventually."

She laughs, turning to the group, who have all abandoned stretching in favor of checking him out. "This is Liam, he's a newbie, so don't be too mean to him."

He gives an awkward half wave, wondering just what he's gotten himself into as stretching resumes.

"Alright, we're going to learn a bit of a dance now." Danielle says, clapping her hands together and leaning against the bar stretching across the mirrored wall. "You guys all know Toxic by Britney Spears?"

One of the guys in the back of the class makes a sounds of annoyance. "I thought we agreed no more Britney."

She juts a hip out. "We agreed no more Ke$ha. No one said anything about Britney."

The boy throws an arm towards Liam. "What about poor Liam here. You're going to subject him to Britney on his first day?"

Liam wonders if it would be at all possible to sink into the floor. "She's not too bad... Her stuff's pretty catchy..."

Danielle claps excitedly. "See Aiden! Everyone loves Britney!" She turns back to the front. "Alright, we're going to start at the chorus."

A half and hour later finds Liam sweaty, moderately confused, and extremely determined. Danielle is a good teacher, that isn't the problem, but dancing is much harder than he'd originally anticipated and he still hasn't quite got the remembering choreography thing down. He's trying to get the footwork - something called a padebure which he's pretty sure is just French for 'you are going to want to die' - when the door opens, a dark haired boy with golden skin entering as quietly as he can.

He's got his hair slicked up in a messy quiff, black sweatpants that hang low on his hips, and a white tank top that shows off the tattoo on his collarbone. He's alarmingly familiar, and Liam, for about the fifteenth time since the beginning of class tries his very best to stay out of sight.

Zayn, because of course it's him, jogs up to Danielle, who stops teaching as soon as she spots him. They have a quick whispered conference at the front of the room, which ends in her giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He wonders if maybe she's his girlfriend, and then tries not to wonder why that makes his stomach twist.

"Alright slackers." She says as he takes position beside her, giving her a moment to fix her ponytail. "From the beginning."

Liam counts the beat in his head, watching Aiden and trying to make his limbs do what Aiden's are, hoping he looks less stupid than he feels. He's actually doing pretty well until he notices that Zayn is most certainly not dancing and most definitely staring at him with an expression that's half embarrassment and half fear.

He stumbles, nearly topping over even as he tries to get back in he rhythm. He makes a valiant effort, but it's pretty much a lost cause by the time the section ends.

Danielle calls him out, amusement softening her words. "What happened, Payne? You fell apart in the middle!"

And its not like he can say 'oh sorry, your hot friend was staring me down, probably because I found him in the school bathroom a few days ago and let him stay in my kitchen' so he just shrugs and says the first thing that comes to mind. "Got a bit tripped up."

She laughs. "I can tell!" There's a blissful beat of rest before she kneels, finger on the play button. "Again?"

The class itself is only two hours, but by the end Liam feels like he's been there for days. When Danielle said that they mostly just fuck around, she was most definitely lying. His shirt is sticking to his back and his entire body feels a little gelatinous. He runs, so it's not like he isn't used to the physical exertion, but as he heads for the drinking fountain he's finding muscles he didn't even know existed. Plus, he has Toxic in his head.

A few of the others give him smiles and waves as he returns to get his backpack, which he takes as a good sign. He's definitely the worst dancer of the group, but he figures that just gives him a whole lot of room for improvement.

He's just picking up his backpack from where he'd discarded it on the floor when he notices that the room isn't completely empty. Zayn is standing in the middle of the floor, doing body rolls and hip movements and throwing his body around in fluid motions that Liam can't fully comprehend. He didn't dance all that much in the class, mostly watched Danielle from the front, and Liam thought maybe it was because he was just learning too. Seeing him now, his body moving like this is what it was made for, he doesn't think so.

When he ends the combination it's precise and kindof beautiful, holding perfectly still before he relaxes, running a hand back through his hair and moving straight into some quick routine of shoulder movements and complicated footwork.

There's something incredible about how his body works, his entire frame part of the dance as he goes from move to move, eyes sharp with concentration, chest fluttering with exertion. Liam remembers thinking how he looked almost dead sitting on the floor, but he looks incredibly alive now, like maybe he was saving all of his life for this moment, letting it pour out of his skin.

He doesn't even realize he's been staring until Danielle comes up behind him. "He's really talented, isn't he?"

He starts, looking back at her with wide eyes. "Yeah, I, well yeah."

She laughs, gauging the situation with keen eyes. "I think he likes you. Barely took his eyes off you the entire rehearsal."

He shakes his head. "Don't think he's staring because he likes me."

She shrugs, pressing her nose to the glass. "I know Zayn. You interest him."

"Oh." A thought niggles at the back of his mind, worry making his thoughts go too fast. "You wouldn't tell anyone, would you? That, well, you know."

"I only guessed." She says, looking the tiniest bit smug, then comforting as she registers Liam's discomfort. "If you don't want me to tell anyone, I won't."

He nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Because I'm not."

She raises her eyebrows. "Of course. But if you were, I wouldn't tell a soul."

He smiles, taking one last look at Zayn as he follows Dani down the stairs. "Thankyou."

And he can still hear the whispers but they don't seem to matter so much anymore.

**Chapter 3**

Harry's mum has this party every single year and he's fairly sure he hates it more with each go round. It's the 'welcome autumn soiree,' which is actually the most vomit inducing title he's ever heard. Still, despite his protests, he's somehow ended up wearing his nice silver blazer over a white button down, looking nice and put together in his shiny black shoes. He does a slow half turn in the mirror, examining the long line of his legs in his almost painfully tight dress pants. They aren't all that comfortable, but it's worth it for the way he knows Zayn will run his hand over the inseam of his thigh during desert and how everyone will stare while he sips something less than legal.

He doesn't see how it's all that different from all those pretty girls with their cleavage and legs that go on for miles. There's no shame in liking the stares on his back as he walks away.

The party is already in full swing when he gets downstairs, his mother and all her socialite friends mingling in the dining room. He's missed dinner, something he gleans from the empty plates in the adjoining dining room and the way his mother is glaring daggers at him from the other side of the party. He blows her a small kiss, smiling as he demonstrates how well he's managed to dress himself. She rolls her eyes disapprovingly, but he knows he's off the hook for now. Arriving at all is still one step ahead of last year, and arriving well dressed... well Harry is feeling a little bit like he deserves some sort of prize.

"You look nice." The voice is soft in his ear, but he recognizes it immediately, finding Zayn at his shoulder, an elaborate ring on his finger and a glass of red wine in his hand.

"You too." Zayn's wearing a maroon suit and it looks gorgeous against his skin tone, the sleeves rolled up to reveal white cuffs. His wine matches his outfit, which is stupid but typical Zayn. "I would've gone with a bit of lipstick though, really would have added to your color theme."

Zayn raises his eyebrows. "Don't think my lips are red enough?"

Harry wiggles his eyebrows in return, relieving Zayn of his wine glass and downing a generous gulp. "A bit too early for that kind of talk, I'm not even half drunk yet."

"Like you haven't fucked me sober." Is Zayn's parting remark as he heads over to some helpless serving boy in search of more alcohol.

Harry smiles after him, relieved to find him in good spirits, at least for Zayn. He tries not to worry about him, but he can't help it sometimes. He still hasn't completely gotten over that morning in the bathroom a week ago and he knows Zayn is still feeling the effects, though he hides it well. Zayn hides a lot of things well.

His friends are scattered around the room, some looking more happy to be here than others. Mingled between them are the esteemed looking men and fabulously dressed women he knows he's supposed to be making a good impression on. His father's words hang over his head: 'You're never going to amount to anything if all you do is get drunk and fuck girls, make an impression, take what's meant to be yours.' Harry shakes out his curls, twirling the wine glass around in his fingers. It's really get high and fuck boys, but he doesn't really think that would make his dad all that much happier.

"You look like shit, babe."

He turns, finding a red haired Cher at his shoulder, her latest hair style big, curled and beautiful as always.

"Charming, aren't you?" He says, tempted to steal her drink, but fairly sure she wouldn't part with it as easily as Zayn had. She's making an effort tonight and conforming fairly nicely to the color theme, her eggplant hued dress nearly the exact color of the napkins, and somehow it suits her. "And I don't look like shit, I'm fabulous."

"You're right." She smiles up at him, all pearly white teeth and pale pink lip stain. "Right now you look gorgeous, but you're probably going to be a drunken mess in about three hours. And then you're going to look like shit."

He raises an eyebrow at her, wishing she wasn't quite so tall her in gold heels so he could use his height so his advantage. "So you're preemptively insulting me?"

"Essentially." She replies, spinning her glass with dainty fingers and pointing a pinkie over at where Louis is standing alone, looking exceptionally displeased by the room around him. "So have you fucked him?"

Harry laughs, a smirk alighting on his face. "Not as of yet."

She shrugs like it's only a matter of time as opposed to a dirty fantasy he maybe shouldn't have let slip. "I wonder what he'd let you do if you got him spliffed up. I bet he's a slut once he's a little out of his mind."

"I just want to lick his face." Harry says, a pout falling onto his lips.

Cher scoffs. "So tame. I'd like to get him up against a wall and snog him senseless."

Harry just smiles and nods, thinking that Louis Tomlinson probably wouldn't let anyone get him up against any walls unless he told them to. He thinks he's really, really okay with that. "Something along those lines."

"You should go talk to him. Start a friendship, braid each other's hair, and talk about your favorite Jonas brother."

"Joe."

Cher laughs, a boisterous sound that's kindof endearing. "Definitely Joe. Now go talk to him, you freak."

Harry nods, reluctantly leaving her side and heading over to where Louis is standing, black suit and scarlet tie, hair slicked back and blue eyes as hard as flint. There's a fragility about his bone structure, but he belies it with the strong tilt to his shoulders and the firm line of his lips. Harry watches him, discarding his empty wine glass on the table and picking up two full ones, wondering what on earth he's doing and why he ever does to what his friends tell him to do.

Louis only notices him once they're nearly toe to toe, gaze surprised and almost annoyed as he realizes Harry is definitely heading for him. There's a steely quality to the stare that makes Harry's heart beat just a little bit faster. "Do you need something?"

And Harry was going to be cordial, but there's something deliciously challenging in Louis' words. "What, do they not teach your manners? I'm being a gracious and helpful host." He replies with faux-sweetness, pressing the glass into Louis' hands.

"They do, but I thought the manners course was the one right after Not Punching People In The Face 101, so I'd just assumed you'd missed it." He sneers, but doesn't move away, just looks up at Harry with the infuriatingly petulant look Harry would like to kiss right off his stupid face. His bruise has mostly healed but Harry can still see its vestiges and it makes him feel just a little bit powerful.

"So where's the girlfriend? Run off because she's figured out you like cock?" He leans forward on the last word, popping the k and liking the way Louis stiffens when he does it.

"She's got the flu." Louis replies, looking a little bit thrown. It's almost disappointing really, besting Louis Tomlinson. Fighting isn't fun if he can win so easily.

"Not your best comeback, Louis, I'm upset." Harry replies, his voice a little bit softer. He doesn't actually to hurt Louis, just start a fire behind his eyes.

"It wasn't a comeback. I'm just finished speaking with you." Louis holds his glass a little tighter than necessary, his lips flattening into a thin line. But he doesn't move away, he never moves away.

Harry leans closer to him, wanting some kind of reaction. _Play along with me. Pretend you hate me and I'll pretend I hate you. _He's almost surprised by the thought, because when did he have to pretend at all? "C'mon, don't be like that." Harry presses. "Want to do something with me?"

The reply is sharp and immediate. "No."

"Want to come with me while I do something?" Because Cher has gotten him thinking and it's making his hands itch. Fuck this party, fuck everything except Louis and his eyes and his hands and his lips lips lips.

"No."

"Will you?"

Louis lets out a world weary sigh, taking a generous gulp of his wine. "Probably."

Harry attempts the half smile Zayn likes best, but somehow it morphs into an enormous dimpling grin and well, that works too. "Follow me."

Louis is a few steps behind him and for once he's grateful that these parties are so boring because otherwise there's no way Louis would be following. "No funny business, right?" He asks in a clipped tone, sounding extremely unenthused about the whole situation as they head out of the main room, through one of Harry's sitting rooms onto the balcony outside.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Harry replies, squatting down to pull up one of the planks, sliding a small wooden box out of the niche underneath. "Don't you think about pulling anything funny either, wouldn't want me to have to give you a nosejob to match your girlfriend's, would you?"

Louis sits down next to Harry, setting his wine glass down on the pristine white slats. "Well we both know how well that went for you last time."

Harry shrugs, stopping his fiddling with the clasp to lean closer to Louis. "Well if at first you don't succeed..."

Louis meets his gaze head on. "Well then you're probably Harry Styles."

Harry lets out a soft gust of breath that's vaguely erotic, fluttering his eyelashes. "God I love it when you insult me."

Louis pulls back, glaring at him. "You're not funny, Harry."

"M'not trying to be funny."

Louis just sighs, his eyes following Harry as he opens up the box, pulling out a plastic bag.

"Is that pot?"

Harry gives him a look. "No, they're suspicious rolls of paper I keep under my porch for no reason."

"I was just asking."

Harry picks up the crap lighter from the bottom of the box, flicking it to life and lighting the joint held between his teeth. "Ever smoked before?"

Louis shakes his head like he's almost embarrassed, but is trying his very best not to show it. "It's not my scene."

Harry takes a tiny little drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs for a moment before letting it out. His mother will probably kill him if he finishes her party completely baked, but he'll be a much more pleasurable host if he's a little hazy around the edges. "Do you want it to be your scene?"

Louis shakes his head, looking just a little bit proper. "No."

"Living a little isn't going to hurt you, you know." Harry says with a smile, the familiar dizzy warmth descending slowly over him as he takes another tiny hit.

"But your shitty drugs might." Louis replies, but Harry can see him slowly relaxing, a resigned tilt to his shoulders.

"I would never buy shitty drugs, who do you think I am?"

"Harry Styles."

Harry laughs, that full bodied thing that makes Cher press fond kisses to his curls. "Cruel." And when he looks over, incredibly, miraculously, Louis has a smile on his face. It's small, just a little curious upturning of his lips, and Harry is fairly sure Louis doesn't even know he's doing it, but it's there. "Lean close to me."

Louis gives him a calculating look, leaning just a bit closer.

"Farther."

He sighs, scooting up so their faces are inches apart. "Better?" He curls his lip a little as the smoke reaches his nose, but it's almost cute when he does it.

Harry nods, breathing in bitter smoke and holding it in his mouth for a long moment, wondering how to go about this. Whenever he does this with Zayn its a bit slower and more careful, but Louis isn't really either of those things so he's just going to have to make it work.

"What are you-" Harry moves in, cutting Louis' words off as he breathes the smoke into the other boy's mouth.

For a moment, it seems like Louis is actually too surprised to do anything but take in a panicked breath. He holds perfectly still, lips pressed to Harry's, eyes squeezed shut as Harry holds Louis' face to his, stroking his thumb across his cheek. It's Harry who pulls away, leaving Louis gasping and coughing as he lets the smoke out in a long gust and then has to fill his lungs back up with oxygen. Harry kindof expected him to be angry, to yell or throw things, but he just looks kind of shell shocked. He's a deer caught in headlights and it's almost kindof sad.

"Why do you keep doing shit like that?" Louis asks, picking up his wine glass with shaking fingers and taking a gulp.

"Doing what?" Harry asks, because he's starting to feel the soft warmth of the high but there's something sobering about the look on Louis' face.

"Touching me and just-" He trails off, rubbing a hand across his throat. "It burns a little."

He looks so lost just sitting there, and Harry is suddenly positive that somehow his impermeable shell has crumbled beneath him, that this is the brittle skeleton that lies beneath. "What are you so afraid of?" He asks, curling his free hand against his jacket so he won't reach out for him.

"Why did you say you wanted me?" Louis asks instead of answering, and Harry wonders if even he knows the answer. He can feel the pot in his system, and he usually gets giggly around now, but somehow there's nothing funny about the shiver of the night air, how the hollows under Louis' eyes bruise a pale blue.

"When did I say that?" Harry asks, because he wants Louis to tell him he remembers, tell him that maybe he notices Harry too. He knows that Louis cares, cares about what he says no matter how much he tries to pretend he's made of ice.

"At the party. On the beach." Louis shakes his head like he wishes he could forget just as much as Harry is glad he remembers. "Hand me the joint."

Harry obliges, watching as Louis raises it to his lips like it's going to bite him, finally just closing his eyes and taking a long drag, holding it in until his eyes water and then breathing out with a hacking cough.

"I don't feel anything." Louis says, handing it back to Harry. "Aren't I supposed to feel something?"

Harry shrugs, taking it back. "Not everyone feels it their first time."

Louis nods slowly. "Oh."

"I'm sorry I punched you." He says, a wry smile falling across his lips. He is, not because Louis didn't deserve it, but because he thinks he never really wanted to hurt him, just get his attention.

Louis nods. "I shouldn't have said that shit about your-" He seems to have trouble getting the next word out. "Boyfriend."

Harry shakes his head, taking a small puff, the joint slowly burning down. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Oh. Well." Louis stands up slowly, looking exhausted. "I think I'm going to call a cab."

"Why?" Harry asks, a small giggle escaping his mouth even though nothing is really all that funny.

"I don't have the energy to be Louis Tomlinson tonight." He replies simply, smoothing out his tie and bending to set his wine glass by Harry.

Harry nods, and he's feeling all soft and buoyant and it's kindof awful to see Louis looking so heavy. "Louis?"

"Yes?" It's tired, and Harry is pretty sure he didn't sound that weary at the beginning of this whole thing. He wonders if he got tired, or if he'd just been hiding it all along.

"Can we be friends?" He asks, because Louis is the most beautiful creature he's ever seen, all tan skin and lovely, lovely features and Harry loves friends, he's great with them, and he thinks Louis needs one.

Louis shakes his head, walking down the first step and pausing like his body can't quite decide which direction it wants to go in yet. "No, we can't."

"Please?"

"No."

"I've never lied to you, Louis." Harry says, stubbing the the joint out on the white paint, leaving a tiny black scar. "Think about that, alright?"

Louis just shakes his head, walking down through the grass and around the house, leaving Harry to wrap himself up in the twinkling stars.

xx

The party turns out to be less than awful. The second half is actually fairly tolerable, and by midnight everyone has cleared out, leaving Zayn and Harry to hole up in Harry's room as his mother and the help rush about downstairs.

They're both surprisingly sober, alcohol only slightly numbing their senses. Harry isn't sure if it's because all he had was wine or if he's finally finding some of his fabled self control.

Zayn has Harry pinned down on his frankly enormous bed, blazer on the floor, white button down ripped open. Zayn's already down to his shirt and boxers, their clothes littering the carpet.

"Can you get me off?" Harry asks, nipping at Zayn's bottom lip as they come briefly up for air, working his pants down the best he can.

Zayn nods, pressing warm lips to Harry's neck. "You smell like weed." He whispers against his skin, hands creeping across his torso underneath the thin fabric.

Harry gasps underneath the touch, holding Zayn close as he ruts his hips up. "I know."

"Should've invited me, I'm always up for a smoke." He says, holding himself up so Harry's can't get any friction.

Harry lets out a sad little whine, working his hands between them so he can work himself over. "Don't be a fucking tease."

"You love it when I'm a tease." Zayn replies, but grinds down onto Harry anyway, reaching to tug at his curls just how he likes.

"It was with Louis. I may have kissed him." Harry explains once he's gotten enough breath back, all this touching making him feel frantic, the words falling out of his mouth like marbles.

"I don't really want to think about Louis while I'm this hard." Zayn replies, even though Harry knows he'd have been mad if he didn't get all the sordid details. He lets Harry suck angry red marks onto his neck, a small laugh escaping the younger boy's mouth at Zayn's statement.

"I don't know, I can't really say I mind."

Zayn would roll his eyes if he thought Harry would even notice in the half light. "Of course you don't. You like twinks."

Harry sighs brokenly, the conversation taking more brain capacity than he really has available. "Shut up and-" He shudders as he gets just that little bit more friction. "Kiss me you twat."

Zayn slams their hips together with more force than is really necessary, pulling a soft cry from Harry's mouth. "I am kissing you."

Harry pulls at Zayn's hair with one hand, getting his boxers off with the other. "Kiss me harder."

Zayn does, shutting him up with his lips and his tongue and the rolling of his hips. It's not quite violent, but there's something desperate about their hands, like their both scrabbling to take what they can from each other before it's all gone.

"Suck me off." Zayn says finally, when both of them are too far gone to think about anything else. And then they're on the floor and Zayn's pushing Harry onto his knees and Harry is pulling Zayn's boxers down and taking him into his mouth.

There are no games, no teasing, just Harry's tongue and the moans that drip from Zayn's lips as he fucks into him. Harry takes it, he's good at that, just closing his eyes and letting Zayn take over, likes not having to think about anything but how good his hands feel, about the weight of it on his tongue and the feeling of Zayn hitting the back of his throat.

Zayn's close, he can taste him in his mouth, and he pulls off a little bit, getting his hands up to stroke at Zayn's shaft while he does that trick with his tongue.

Zayn does this thing when he comes, his lips curl slightly up, eyes squeeze shut, hands grip just a little too tight. Harry likes it, the pain of Zayn's fingers something to feel.

His hips jerk as he lets go, gasping, pulling Harry's head back until his neck hurts. "I love you." He whispers as he finishes, with a sort of reverence that makes Harry laugh.

He licks a line of cum from his lips, running a hand across Zayn's hipbone. "No you don't."

Zayn falls to his knees, knocking Harry onto his back and kissing his swollen lips like an apology, his hand working over Harry's cock. "No I don't."

Harry just sighs against his shoulder, arching up into Zayn's touch, letting the rough movements of his hands send him over the edge. He goes limp on the floor, pulling Zayn back in for another quick kiss, trying to communicate something to him that he doesn't quite understand himself.

Zayn is the first one to pull back, getting up slowly and heading into Harry's bathroom for a wash cloth. Harry stretches out, feeling languid and inconsolably tired. He thinks there was a time when this probably left him feeling satisfied, but right now he just feels kindof screwed up and like he wants to curl up in his covers and never move again.

Zayn comes out of his bathroom in a pair of Harry's probably dirty sleep pants that don't quite reach his ankles and holding a washcloth. "I care about you a lot, you know." He says as he kneels down, running the damp fabric across Harry's stomach, cleaning him up with gentle fingers.

Harry nods, squirming a little. "I know."

Zayn kisses him on the jaw, tossing the cloth in the vague direction of the bathroom. "Good."

"You're a good friend." Harry says, because the air feels a little empty and he wants to fill it with confessions and promises.

"Sometimes." Zayn says, slipping his arms underneath Harry's neck and knees and hoisting him into the air the best he can, even though Harry isn't all that much smaller than he is. He presses him onto the bed, letting him curl under the rumpled covers.

"Most times." Harry replies, holding up the duvet in a wordless invitation for Zayn to climb in. He does, arms curling around Harry's torso, head tucked against his chest. "You're okay, right? You'd tell me if you weren't?"

Zayn looks up, giving Harry another kiss. "Of course. You too, right?"

Harry smiles, holding Zayn just a little bit closer. "I'm always okay."

"I know." Zayn replies, snuggling into him.

They just lay there for a while, bodies tangled up in a way that's more than platonic but less than romantic. It's just comforting really, a constant reminder that they're both here and they're both breathing.

"I started dancing again." Zayn begins quietly, running his fingers in circles on Harry's arm. "I missed it."

Harry tilts his head down, pulling Zayn tight against him. "Why'd you go back?" he asks, because he was there for the breakdown, when Zayn danced with death instead. Harry thinks about it like a tunnel, he and Zayn tugging each other down into the darkness, the dark filling their lungs and dragging them further under. He thinks maybe he's ready to come up for air for good, thinks that maybe Zayn is too, hopes that they can really find the stars back again.

"Danielle wanted to teach a class, she needed my help." He could have said no, and they both know it but neither of them say it.

"That's it?" Harry asks, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Zayn's head.

There's a pause where Zayn buries his head in Harry's chest, a soft lilt to his voice, a weight there that says that maybe his words are important. "There's this boy."

"Yeah?"

"I don't know. He's just, I don't know. Good somehow."

Harry does a tiny throaty laugh, stroking fingers across Zayn's shoulderblade. "This one's different?"

Zayn shrugs, remaining serious. "Yeah. I don't know. You remember when I messed up, right? You know, with the pills? He found me and I couldn't figure out how to do anything and he took care of me. And it was just nice. He was just nice."

"I think this is nice." Harry replies, and its not that he's petulant, but Zayn is his and Zayn has always needed him and this is new. He's not used to other people taking care of Zayn, that's his job.

"This is nice. But you're going to leave me Haz. You're going to pull some fantastic guy and then what am I going to do?"

"You are the fantastic guy." Harry assures him, pressing another kiss to his messy hair. "I'll always be here for you Zayn."

Zayn burrows further underneath Harry's covers, nuzzling his head into Harry's shoulder. "No you won't. That's okay."

"Why can't we be in love, Zayn?" Harry asks, because he isn't quite sure what love is anymore and he knows this should work, but somehow it just doesn't. Maybe it's because they know too much about each other, maybe it's because they'll never know quite enough. He just knows there's a hollow place in his chest where love should go and he doesn't know if he knows how to fill it.

"Because I know I can't fix you. Because no part of me makes you better. Love is supposed to make you better." Zayn says slowly.

"Do you think that boy could make you better?" Harry asks.

"Do you think Louis could make you better?" He replies instead of answering.

"I want to make him better." Harry admits, voice quiet in the dark. "I don't just want to screw him. I just, I thought he was so awful and terrible but he isn't. Not really. I don't know what I'm saying anymore."

"Just sleep." Zayn says softly. "Just sleep with me. You can fix him in the morning."

Harry nods slowly, closing his eyes and letting himself go.

**Chapter 4**

Louis is hungover.

There's a text from Eleanor on his phone, but he hits cancel before reading it, heading down the hall and down the stairs to where his sisters are grouped around the table, scarfing down pancakes with fury.

He greets them with a tired wave, heading straight for the cabinet, fishing out a mug and clanking it onto the counter. There's a box of tea bags sitting by the stove and he pulls one out, sticking it at the bottom of his mug and pouring in some still mostly hot water.

He puts a couple of pancakes on a plate as he waits for the tea to steep, stabbing them with perhaps unnecessary venom as he eats. The truth is he's really not hungover at all, he's just really upset with himself, and it's making him feel like he drowned himself in tequila.

"You look a bit peaky, love." His mum says from the doorway, looking positively suburban in her velvet track suit. "Late night? I didn't notice you come in."

"Yeah. Stayed out a bit late." He lies, because it's easier than explaining the truth. "Should feel better soon."

"You know I don't like you drinking." She says disapprovingly as he mutilates another pancake with his fork.

"Didn't drink too much, I just feel like shit." He says, and it's fairly true.

She purses her lips. "Language."

"Okay." He replies, stealing the last three pancakes and pushing past her up to his room. "Fucking shit." He mutters as he closes the door with perhaps unnecessary force. "Fucking godddamn shit face cunt bitch."

The thing is, he really isn't all that mad at Harry for kissing him. He's upset at himself for following him outside, he's upset for not pulling away, he's upset because there's a part of him that believes Harry when he says all those stupid things.

It's just that he's so earnest, so soft and Louis had wanted to kiss him. He wanted Harry to whisper his beautiful lies and to forget himself on his lips.

Louis takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. "Gay. You are gay. You are gay and you like boys." The words sound dangerous in his mouth. They're terrifying, they make Louis' skin crawl, but they sound far better than the lies. He thinks maybe somewhere, he's known they were true for a very long time.

He hates that Harry won't leave him alone, but somehow he can't hate Harry. Lately, it seems like the only person he can really hate with all that much success is himself.

xx

Zayn wakes up before Harry does. His entire body feels sore for no really good reason, and it creaks and moans as he crawls over Harry, feet landing softly on his floor. It's a shitty day, the cloudy sky washing the color out of the world, and Zayn feels a little bit washed out too, wrung out and achey. He picks up his clothes, pulling one of Harry's sweatshirts on over his pilfered sleep pants, haphazardly folding his suit and resting it on Harry's desk as he rifles around for pen and paper.

_Take care of yourself. See you monday. - Z_

He sticks the note on Harry's bedside table where he knows the other boy will see it. It wouldn't hurt to stay, to let Harry wake up next to him and have breakfast downstairs with his sisters and mum like some parody of a family - single mother, popular sister, fucked up teenager, fucked up teenager's best friend - but he doesn't have the energy for that this morning, so he just drops a kiss to the top of Harry's head and sneaks out.

He's good at leaving. Leaving is the easy part.

xx

School on Monday is quiet, which is nice. Zayn has a feeling that might be because he's giving off weird angry kid vibes, but that's nothing too out of the ordinary. He's used to people ignoring him, given his ridiculous awkwardness around anyone that isn't Harry or affiliated with Harry. He's pretty sure that if Harry hadn't latched onto him when they were kids he wouldn't have any friends at all.

He's sitting in English, reading over the questions they're supposed to be doing and not actually doing them. English is actually Zayn's favorite class, and the only one he actually ever gets around to doing the homework for. Zayn's smart, he's just not 'motivated.' He knows this because the same phrase has been written on his report cards since 7th grade.

He's startled out of his mental contemplation of the short story they're working on when the teacher taps his desk. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"

Zayn nods, wondering if this is going to be a standard _you're understanding the material, but I wish you would participate a little bit more in class _talk, or if he's committed some other crime against education. "Sure."

He follows Mrs. Willis out of the room, ignoring the curious stares that follow him. "You aren't in trouble, I just have a question for you." She assures him as they get outside. He raises his eyebrows. _This is new._

"Oh. Okay." He replies, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"You know Liam Payne, right?"

And that is really what he was expecting at all, but he'll roll with it. "Yeah, I know him."

She nods like that's the correct answer. "Well he's having a little bit of trouble and is looking for a tutor, so I gave him the names of a couple of students I thought could help him out and he picked you. Not that you should feel pressured into doing it, but if you wanted to help him in the library one day a week that would be a great way to get some volunteer hours."

Zayn's brain is still pretty caught up in the middle of that sentence. "He picked me?"

She nods. "That's not a problem is it?"

"No, no it's fine." He replies, wondering why he feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. "I can definitely help him. Wednesday, maybe?"

She smiles, looking pleased with herself. "I think he said he was free then. I'll talk to him and get back to you tomorrow, alright?"

Zayn nods, following her back into a classroom in a daze. He wants to see Liam, ask him what he's playing at, who he thinks he is showing up at his dance classes and picking his way into his life, but mostly he wants to touch his hands and thank him, because Liam has seen him at his worst and is still giving him a shot. No one ever gives anyone second changes.

But apparently Liam does.

xx

Harry is making his way out to lunch, helmet tucked underneath his arm, motorcycle jacket zipped halfway up, when he finds himself being jumped on by a very excited Niall. "Hey mate! You psyched for Friday?!"

Harry loses his helmet in the grass, twisting around and trying to get the surprisingly heavy irishman off of his back without too many casualties. "Why am I excited for Friday this time, Nialler?" He asks, reaching back in an attempt to tickle Niall off of him.

It works, Niall sliding to the ground with an indignant squawk. "You don't remember?"

Harry shakes his head, helping Niall up and then retrieving his shiny black helmet from the ground. "No I don't remember. What's happening? Impromptu trips to France? You're having the whole school over for fondue? You've concocted an intricate plan to get Eleanor Calder in your bed?"

Niall makes a face at him. "No you cock, it's drag race weekend. Don't tell me you forgot, we've been working on your car for months now."

Oh. Oh _shit_. "That's this weekend?" Harry asks, going over the dates in his mind. "Holy shit I totally forgot."

Niall purses his lips, hip checking Harry so he stumbles. "Damn right you fuckin' did."

"Hey, I've remembered now, haven't I?"

"Only after I reminded you." He replies petulantly, but Harry knows he isn't upset.

"Do we know who's going to show up yet?" Harry asks as they reach his bike, the light blue suzuki he got for his birthday who is the only woman he could ever love.

"Nothing for sure yet, you know the whole thing is on the DL." He gets a smug little grin on his face, jumping his eyebrows up and down suggestively. "Think Tommo might be racing though."

Harry hits him. "Fuck off, I'm going to lunch."

"Give me a ride?" Niall asks, batting his eyelashes like some ridiculous coquette.

"I didn't bring my spare helmet." Harry replies, straddling the seat and slipping his own helmet over his head, zipping his riding jacket up to his chin. "But whatever you want, Nialler."

Niall smiles wickedly, climbing on behind him. "Haz baby, you know I live for danger."

Harry rolls his eyes, cranking his bike to life. "Don't we all."

Niall laughs, that full body thing where he tips his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. "You're such a wanker!"

It's fairly true.

xx

It's only after Zayn gets to the library, his burberry backpack slung over his shoulders, scarf tucked into his peacoat and shoes tapping on the carpet, that he starts to get nervous. Maybe he should have said no, directed Liam to some do-good studious girl who'd probably be much more helpful to him.

If he left maybe Liam would just give up on him like everybody else. Liam is about three minutes late and sneaking away is starting to sound really tempting. It's only after he flies through the doorway, uniform rumpled as he skids to a stop, that Zayn feels bad. Liam is a good person and he doesn't deserve Zayn walking out on him like a twat.

Liam looks around in a panic, relief flooding his face when he spots Zayn leaning up against a bookcase. He jogs over, ignoring the glare of the elderly librarian, a flustered but friendly smile on his face. "Hi, I'm Liam. You know that. Wow, um, sorry I'm late."

"It's cool." Zayn shrugs, detaching himself from the wall and leading Liam over to a quiet corner in the back. The library is half new, half old, and Zayn always chooses the old half, because the new half technically belongs to him. Or, more correctly, his parents. He slips through the tumbledown stacks of old books, through the reference section that smells like crumbling paper and ink to the small niche in the back filled with squishy red arm chairs.

"I didn't even know this was back here." Liam says as he sets his books down on one of the ornate wooden tables.

"Yeah, most people stay in the new wing. It has computers." Zayn replies, letting his stuff fall to the wood with a thump. There's a girl plugged into her laptop in the corner, but other than that they're pretty much alone, the alcove quiet and peaceful.

"I like the old part, I think." Liam says, tracing the patterns on the tables.

"Me too." Zayn agrees, sliding his scarf off and unbuttoning his coat. "So what are you having trouble with?"

Liam makes a face, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a flimsy plastic folder, slapping it open on the table. "Everything. I'm totally shite at English."

Zayn shakes his head, peering over at what Liam is working on. On the top is the worksheet from earlier, with Liam's signature scribbled at the top and doodles filling the margins, only one question filled in. "Liam?"

"Yeah?" Liam asks, looking a little lost in the sea of paper.

"You know A Modest Proposal is satire, right?" Zayn asks, stifling a grin. "He's not actually advocating that they eat the children."

Liam just stares at him, eyes widening, mouth dropping open the smallest bit. "Oh my god I think I'm an idiot."

A laugh falls out of Zayn's mouth before he can stop it. "It's an honest mistake."

"How was I supposed to know he was kidding?" Liam asks, looking completely heartbroken about the whole thing.

Zayn shrugs. "It has to do with tone. If an author uses a lot of hyperbolic language they're probably using it to make a point."

Liam nods slowly. "That makes these questions make a lot more sense."

Zayn smiles, inexplicably proud of the boy in front of him. "Alright, try number two then."

Liam nods, starting doggedly in on the unfinished worksheet in his boyish handwriting, chewing on his eraser in between sentences. Zayn just watches him as he works, amused by the determination on his face. If Zayn was half that determined about schoolwork, he might be getting As.

He likes that Liam is sincere, he likes that he doesn't seem to want to bring up that time in the bathroom, he likes how much Liam tries. It's incredibly endearing, and Zayn isn't quite sure what to do with all of those stupid feelings but he kind of likes them.

"You don't mind just sitting there, do you?" Liam asks once he's gotten about halfway through. Zayn hasn't moved to get out the math homework and unfinished econ essay he knows are sitting in his backpack, but its not like he was really planning on doing those anyway. "Don't you have homework of your own? Like I'm not paying you or anything, you can do you own stuff, I don't mind."

Zayn shrugs. "My attitude about homework can generally be summed up in the word _no_."

Liam gets a small laugh out of that. "But you're smart, aren't you? Like, you get it done."

Zayn looks at him for a little while, at the earnestness in his eyes. "I'm failing."

"Oh." He looks down at his own paper, gets this kind of sadness on his face like he's disappointed. "But you need a C average to pass, don't you? You'll pass?"

"My parents own half this library, mate. They aren't going to flunk me out. My mum will come in here and throw a fit because my test scores are amazing and obviously the curriculum isn't utilizing my genius so I'll leave with a C+ and everyone's happy." Zayn bites his lip, feeling a little bit bad for bombarding Liam like that. "Sorry. I don't normally do that."

"Zayn." And it's an admonishment when he says it, like he expected more and Zayn hasn't lived up to those expectations. "You're better than that."

Zayn shrugs. He wants a cigarette, something to do with his hands. "I'm really not."

Liam crinkles his brow, but he won't look away and it's making Zayn squirm. "Do you know how hard I have to work to get Bs? I wish I was as smart as you, as rich as you, but things aren't that easy for me. If I don't do my work I fail, if I do my work I get Cs, and if I pass out on the floor of the bathroom no is going to pick me up and make sure I get home."

"Shit, Liam." Zayn says after a moment, the memory stinging. "It's not like that."

"Well then what is it like?"

"I'm a spoiled rich kid who can't do anything right, I don't deserve anything I have, and my life is a cakewalk. Is that what you want to hear?" Zayn asks him defensively, only realizing after the fact that he was really truly asking, brown eyes all sad like he's a lost puppy and not a teenage boy.

"No, I just want you to stop feeling sorry for yourself because you think you aren't worth anything. You're smart and attractive and you're throwing it away and that's stupid."

Zayn didn't miss that second adjective. "And you're a good person, and I'm complete crap."

"I don't think you're complete crap." Liam says softly, gathering up his papers with careful hands, head bowed and shoulders hunched like he's sorry. "Thankyou for helping me."

"Liam-" Zayn begins, realizing that somehow he's messed this up, that he's hurt Liam's feelings and that was the last thing he wanted. He's not going to hurt him again, no one is.

"Don't." Liam cuts him off, unzipping his bright red backpack and sliding his stuff gently back inside like he's afraid something is going to break. "It's fine."

"It's not."

Liam just shakes his head, shouldering his bag and heading into the maze of the stacks. Zayn hurries after him at a jog, grabbing onto Liam's blazer and spinning him around so they're facing each other. "My parents are never home, I don't deserve my best friend, I was getting better about drugs and drinking but I don't know if I can anymore, I can't talk to anyone, I'm a complete disappointment, and I don't know what the hell I'm doing with my life." He looks down at the carpet, feeling suddenly like he might cry. "That's it. That's what it's like."

There's a beat of silence before Liam's backpack hits the ground and his arms circle around Zayn's shoulders, pulling him into a strong hug. He doesn't say anything at first, just holds Zayn there, slow breaths and the smell of cologne.

"You aren't a disappointment. You just have to try a little harder."

Zayn nods, wishing he didn't feel so close to tears. Liam doesn't know a damn thing about him, but for some inexplicable reason he cares and that feels like it's enough. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

He feels like maybe he should let go, that this might be getting weird, but Liam hasn't pushed him away and no one can see them, so he just holds on tight, lets himself be comforted. "Hey Liam?"

"Yeah?"

Zayn can feel the vibrations of his voice against his chest. "Thanks."

"It's nothing."

But it really is.

xx

It's 11:30 and Zayn is chain smoking out on his roof. His house is situated so he can climb out of the tv room window and end up on a flat stretch of shingles underneath the moonlight. He comes out here when he wants to think, when the big house still feels too small.

Tonight, he's doing his math homework.

**Hope you guys liked it! And please please if you haven't, vote! It really does mean a lot to me. (: **** . **


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